


Honestly, I love you

by queer_esque



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love Confessions, M/M, total honesty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-12 15:24:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19231843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queer_esque/pseuds/queer_esque
Summary: After someone on twitter rants that all politicians lie, Enjolras decides to tell the whole truth for an entire day. Things don't go as planned, especially throwing a certain artist into the mix.





	Honestly, I love you

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so: I've never written in the Les Mis fandom. This is not meant for you to be kind or anything on my story, I just thought I'd mention it. I'm not comfortable writing these people yet. If you have feedback, I would love to hear it.

Politics are so messed up y’all. I don’t think any politician is telling the truth, ever. It sucks. Be straight with us! If any politician is reading this, I dare you to tell the truth, about everything, for at least 24 hours.

 

This, like most of what people tweet, is something Enjolras takes way too personally. He prides himself in his truth-telling: he’s blunt, he’s honest, he’s straight-forward. No bullshitting from him.

So, even though this is just something he found randomly scrolling down twitter at two in the morning, he vows to fulfill this man’s dream of an honest politician. What’s the big deal? He’s honest all the time.

It’s in the morning that the first problems present themselves. Enjolras buys a coffee and when the barista asks him how it is after he eagerly takes a sip, he tells her that the other barista does a better job. Not the best start to his truthful day given the way the barista slumps in on herself, but it has to be done. He’s being honest.

Enjolras ignores the twinge of regret over hurting that poor woman’s feelings and moves on.

Class is fine. He’s never been quiet about his thoughts and feelings toward his professor, so he just turns that up to an eleven, but he wouldn’t say anyone notices. He does finally build up enough courage to tell his neighbor that he should blow his nose with a tissue because it’s disgusting that he just snorts all the mucus into his hand.

Like most days after class, he spends some time in the library working on some school assignments and then completes some work for the Les Amis meeting tonight.

Which is where it all goes wrong.

The most important topic today is the upcoming LGBTQ+ rally that they are organizing. Enjolras has put his heart and soul into this project since he’s dreamed of organizing one ever since he first figured out he’s gay. He’s spent hours this week working on notes and calling people, trying to figure out the best way to show all queer people, especially lost kids like he once was, that the way they’re feeling is okay.

And of course, Grantaire has something negative to say about it.

Grantaire is in his usual corner of the room. He hasn’t drunken anything yet, these days he seems to work on not drinking during the meeting before giving up halfway through and getting shitfaced anyway, and he has a bunch of leftover papers from previous meetings in front of him on which he’s doodling like he always seems to be doing. His curls are in a messy bun and he’s wearing a black shirt that makes Enjolras want to drool.

But as always, what Enjolras has to say is not good enough for Grantaire.

“’Love is love’? Seriously? That’s your theme?” he says, his voice dripping with disdain.

Enjolras, half-way through his notes at this point, looks at him sitting in the back. “Is there something wrong with our theme?” he asks a little too sharply. Even though they argue all the time, when Grantaire openly dislikes something Enjolras put work into like this project it hurts. His approval would mean the world to Enjolras, but nothing ever seems to be good enough.

Grantaire laughs. “It’s a fucking cliché, that’s what it is,” he says. And because Enjolras is not clenching his teeth enough apparently, he adds, “And it’s total bullshit for you to use that theme. Come on, Apollo, love? You’ve never been in love! You wouldn’t know love if it punched you in the face.”

Enjolras swallows, blinking fast at Grantaire who is not meeting his eyes. This is all so funny to Grantaire. All hilarious that he can tear Enjolras down for being emotionless.

But he’s wrong. And today, apparently, is the day Enjolras has to tell him.

“You’re wrong,” he says, loud and clear. Grantaire seems to freeze and finally, finally, meets his eyes again.

“What?” he asks.

“I’ve been in love.”

“When?” Grantaire snorts, but he holds eye contact. His eyes, even from across the room, don’t seem to match his mood. They look sad rather than disdainful.

The whole room has gone silent. The usual noises that are so familiar in a meeting like someone talking or the clatter of glasses have completely vanished, but Enjolras barely realizes it as he stares at Grantaire.

“I’m in love…at the moment,” Enjolras falters in the middle, even though it’s true and the truth needs to be spoken. 

Grantaire sits up and breaks eye contact. He stares at his lap for a second, full of doodles, and clenches his fist. Then he looks up at Enjolras, his eyes sharp, unforgiving, his eyes like black holes.

“Oh yeah? With who? Some distant revolutionary who is long dead? Some philosopher? Some guy out of one of your ridiculous classes?”

“Shut up, Grantaire!” Enjolras feels his lip quiver and he sinks his teeth into it to make it stop. Why is Grantaire doing this? But Enjolras has had enough. Grantaire should know that he is capable of emotions, even if it ruins their friendship. He’s capable of honesty.

Who is he kidding, he’s pretty sure Grantaire hates him.

“Shut up, Grantaire,” he repeats, soft. “You’re wrong. What I feel – like my heart is being ripped apart, like I have butterflies in my chest, and I know that’s a cliché too, want to rip into that, what I feel…” He stares at Grantaire who, for some reason, doesn’t look mad – he looks heartbroken.

“I’m so in love with you,” Enjolras whispers, “and it’s tearing me apart.”

There is a moment of absolute silence. It seems like no one even breathes. It’s thick and it almost chokes Enjolras. He hates this – he’s always tried to be the charismatic leader for his friends, someone who always focuses and puts his political agenda ahead of everything. Now that’s ruined.

Grantaire stares at him. His face appears blank.

Then he gets up and Enjolras wants to close his eyes, so he doesn’t have to watch him walk away. That will break his heart.

But he makes himself watch as Grantaire carelessly throws his doodles on his chair. Some of them scatter to the floor but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Then he starts walking toward Enjolras.

He gets faster and faster and Enjolras can only stare as Grantaire’s legs seem to eat up the distance between them until he’s reached him.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says when he’s standing in front of him. His eyes search Enjolras’ face. Grantaire’s eyes are opened wide and whatever he seems to find makes him place a hand on Enjolras’ cheek.

Then he kisses him.

It’s not a gentle press, it’s not a friendly peck. Grantaire seems to want to devour Enjolras whole and immediately pulls him against himself, kissing him like he can’t breathe and Enjolras is air.

Enjolras doesn’t mind. With a small gasp, he shoves both hands into Grantaire’s hair and pulls him as close as he can. Grantaire opens his mouth and Enjolras takes the invitation gladly.

They kiss and kiss and kiss. After what feels like forever, Grantaire pulls back but stays close enough to share breathing room with Enjolras.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

With a small gasp, Enjolras tries to pull away but Grantaire doesn’t let him. He pulls him back by his shirt.

“Not about that,” he whispers, then laughs incredulously. “Definitely not about that. Just…about what I said earlier. I – I love you too. Oh Christ, Enjolras, so much.”

Enjolras laughs, but it’s a wet sound like he meant to cry but laughs instead. Grantaire smiles, but it’s not his usual smile. It’s so much better. It’s gentle and soft and seems to be shining in his eyes.

“Well,” says Courfeyrac, noisily clearing his throat and waggling his eyebrows. “Should we leave the two of you alone so you can have sex?”

Enjolras feels his cheek go red and Grantaire steps away from Enjolras. Not too far, though, which makes Enjolras smile again.

“Oh shut up,” says Combeferre, elbowing him. “They’re in love and we got to watch it. Why do you have to ruin that?”

Grantaire looks at Enjolras and smiles that new smile again. And, because Enjolras still has to tell the truth for the rest of the day, he says, “Can we cut the meeting short today? I have to take Grantaire to bed right now.”

He’s blushing while he says it but Grantaire’s expression leaves no room for regret.

Not even when Courfeyrac wolf-whistles.

**Author's Note:**

> Review this, and I might just be persuaded not to make you suffer through another one of my attempts in the Les Mis fandom. :)


End file.
